


Ten Fathoms Deep On the Road to Hell

by BuggreAlleThis



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Age of Sail, Fluff, Golden Age of Piracy, M/M, Pining, Pirates, Pre-Slash, The Royal Navy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuggreAlleThis/pseuds/BuggreAlleThis
Summary: Aziraphale is given an assignment as a Captain in the Royal Navy and finds life at sea miserable. Crowley, on the other hand, is having plenty of fun as the Captain of a motley pirate crew.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 70
Kudos: 335





	Ten Fathoms Deep On the Road to Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ileolai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ileolai/gifts).



> Very quick giftfic for [ileolai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ileolai/pseuds/ileolai), based on their adorable [pirates comics!](https://ileolai.tumblr.com/post/187205397019)
> 
> Based, predictably, on this one in particular:

“But… Imperialism belongs to the Other Side,” said Aziraphale. “The British practices in the Indies are unspeakable – I’ve spent so much time here trying to curb-“

“Yes, yes,” said Gabriel. “But a _side-effect_ of European imperialism is _globalism_. And that’s part of the Great Plan.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. The last thing he wanted to do was disagree with the Great Plan. God hated it when angels disagreed with Her Great Plan. Look at Crowley… “Um. Well, if it’s… I suppose-“

“Let’s not forget that piracy is wrong, Aziraphale. It’s stealing. That’s definitely a sin. Murder, rape, pillage. All very high on the sin register.”

“Oh, well, yes, that I can certainly agree with. I just don’t know whether the _martial_ side is for me; I’ve written a proposal giving anyone convicted of piracy a pardon and the education which would enable them to better their lots – perhaps apprenticeships in honest trade-“

“Captain Fell,” Gabriel said, with his blinding smile, “here’s your papers.”

“Right. Yes.” At least the uniforms were all right, Aziraphale told himself. He’d look very dashing in blue and white and gold. It cheered him up just a little. “Thank you.”

*

By far the worst thing about living on a frigate was the lack of privacy. He had his own state room, his own cabin, his own seat of ease, and yet there was constant _noise_ , the constant press of humanity around him, his steward constantly barging in and tidying the place. Oh, that was the other thing: the tidiness! Sailors were _obsessed_ with it. No sooner did he put a piece of paper down than it was tidied away. Aziraphale and his steward loathed each other, and the war of attrition had begun long before they had to welcome Badger Bag aboard at the Equator.

The Caribbean night was balmy and the black velvet sky was punctured by a million stars. Aziraphale sat at the stern window, looking out over the gentle sea. The open ocean was fresher, but there was no escape from his crew. At least he didn’t have to worry about the doldrums of any but the emotional kind.

Whereas the island hopping… The sea was much safer, and the men would alight, but then they would get drunk, and Aziraphale would spend the next month healing venereal diseases.

He didn’t _want_ to capture any pirates. If he captured them, he would have to hang them, and that wasn’t something he was ready to do. His crew had brought three to him in Kingston, and it had taken all his cunning to give them a way of escaping before he surrendered them to the Governor.

His crew sensed his reluctance and despised him for it. He could feel their contempt pressing at his temples. They knuckled their foreheads and avoided his gaze, but with a crew of nearly a hundred and fifty he was always within two metres of someone who thought he was a weak old sodomite.

Aziraphale’s only great boon as a captain was that he was Lucky. For sailors, Luck was a quality as prized as Intelligence or Courage – something active, rather than a term to dismiss someone with. Captain Fell was no prize-hunter, preferred to flee than fight every time, but everyone noted that his ships were always blessed with perfect winds. There was never scurvy or plague on board his ships. His ships had never once found themselves in the doldrums, or sank, or had fire aboard, or smashed onto a dreaded leeward shore.

  
  
It was said that he’d never lost a single man, and sailors who had made their prize money and wanted a safe voyage home to spend it flocked to him. He’d been awarded with gifts seven times from the Humane Society for diving overboard to rescue soldiers – unlike most professional sailors, Captain Fell could swim, and swim well.

There was a brisk knock at his door.

“Come!”

“Excuse me, sir.” Aziraphale’s first lieutenant, a young Scot named Matthews. “We’ve just received a message from _Clio,_ an Indiaman out of Barbados.”

“I’ll be up directly,” said Aziraphale. “Will they take post for us?”

“Only if you command it, they’re in a hurry. But they signalled us that the wife of the Governor of Kingston has been kidnapped by pirates.”

Aziraphale sighed. Governor’s wives were forever sailing back to London for the Season, and getting kidnapped for their troubles. “Well. Stop them anyway, Lieutenant, half a day won’t hurt them overmuch, and the men so like to be able to send their letters home. Ask the Captain and his First to dine with me, and please invite yourself and whichever midshipman has recently distinguished himself.”

“A midshipman? Distinguish himself?” Matthews said dryly, and Aziraphale gave him a grateful smile.

“Everything is relative, James, but don’t tell the Admirality I said that.”

*

Aziraphale felt Crowley at the precise instant there was a sighting of a ship on the horizon. The ship was readied for battle, and Aziraphale’s pulse fluttered against his neckcloth. He _knew_ it was Crowley, like he knew the direction the wind was blowing, like he knew that able seaman Pocky Joe was making a joke at his expense behind his back.

He really didn’t want to have to blow his ship out of the water.

“They’re flying the skull-and-serpent, sir!”

Oh, _Hell_. Crowley wasn’t just on the ship, was he? “All men to battle stations!” Aziraphale said. “Hard to larboard – we’ll rake him if we have to.”

Looks were exchanged in response to these orders. “Sir,” Matthews said softly. “We have the weather gage. We could take him.”

Aziraphale looked at his First coldly. “We make for Kingston, James.”

“Coward!” someone shouted from the forecastle.

“Skepper, take that man’s name!” Matthews roared. “Hard to larboard, full sail!”

“Pirate’s signalling, sir!” called the third lieutenant. “He says… They have Lady Pole, and wish to discuss terms.”

Aziraphale felt warm relief bloom in his abdomen. Oh, _Crowley_ … It’d be so nice to see him again. “Signal that we’ll meet them at Salazar’s Spit. They’re to take the western side, we’ll take the east.”

*

Aziraphale and his second lieutenant Marin stepped onto the white sand of the Spit, leaving the men in the landing boat.

“What if they want a ransom?” Marin whispered.

“Then we give them a ransom,” said Aziraphale. “A lady’s life is in danger. But no, I think I shall be able to come to other terms. If we succeed in securing the lady’s release, tell Matthews that my orders are to sail straight to Kingston, and deliver Lady Pole safely back to her family.”

There was Lady Pole, looking annoyed. Aside from a grubby hand on her elbow, attached to a fierce, bearded man, she looked entirely unmenaced. And there was _Crowley_ , in a rather marvellous black coat with silver buttons, and a red sash around his waist. He was sunburnt, face pink and peeling, but he looked so delightfully happy in the strong heat and proud of himself to boot.

He waved a pistol, and Aziraphale nearly committed the fatal mistake of waving back.

“Stay here, Tom,” he said to Marin. “I’ll speak to him alone, Captain to Captain.”

“Sir… That’s Captain Crowley.”

“Yes, I am aware of who sails under the skull-and-serpent. You have your orders,” Aziraphale said, and began to stride forward.

Crowley matched him, saying something to his colleague, and marching forward. “Hi, angel.”

“Hullo, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and he couldn’t resist a smile – just one, one brief smile. “You’re looking well. Despite the moustache.”

Crowley rubbed one curl of it between his finger and thumb. “So are you. The jacket suits you.”

“Thank you – it was a nice colour, before the salt and the sun got to it. And I can’t miracle it because my steward is watching me constantly, the odious rat.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to have to fight you, but my crew are getting rather sick of me avoiding battle, so I’m here to offer myself in exchange for Lady Pole.”

Crowley’s face split into a wide grin. “Ah, angel. Always so soft-hearted.”

“Well, what else am I meant to do, hmm?” Aziraphale said, though the corner of his mouth quirked up. “She looks well.”

“Absolute pain in my arse. I’ve not hurt her, though!”

“Oh, Crowley, I know, don’t be such a silly-billy. Honestly. Though I did hear what you did to that East Indiaman.”

“No women on that one. Well, one, but she asked to join us first chance she got,” Crowley said. “She’s my pilot now. You really don’t mind coming?”

“No, no,” Aziraphale said. “It’s that or fight you, and I don’t… I don’t want to do that.”

“All right,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale knew that behind his sunglasses, his eyes were warm. “Lady Pole!”

Aziraphale made a leg to the lady as she approached. “My lady, I have negotiated your release. I trust you are well?”

“I’ve been subject to the most appalling, the most _degrading_ treatment,” said Lady Pole, glaring at Crowley, who shrugged.

“Lucky you,” Aziraphale nearly said, and managed not to smile. “Your ordeal is over, my lady. Go down to Lieutenant Marin, and he’ll bring you right aboard. Tell that he has his orders, and is not to put the ship at risk. You’ll be with your husband in only a few days.”

Lady Pole gave Crowley a final, poisonous look, and took off down the beach.

“Wouldn’t shag her,” Crowley said.

“I wondered if it was that,” Aziraphale said as they walked towards Crowley’s crewman.

“She’ll find someone on your one. Probably that Lieutenant of yours. Hiya, Will. Got a less annoying hostage – marginally less,” Crowley said with a grin. “Hands out, Captain.”

“Oh, _really_ ,” Aziraphale said. “Is my word of honour not enough?”

“Never,” Crowley said, as Will began to tie Aziraphale’s hands together. “Hey! Not so tight, eh? Don’t want to cut off the blood supply.” Will gave his captain a sidelong look, and was significantly more gentle as he finished the knot.

“And how am I meant to climb aboard?” Aziraphale said, as they made their way across the Spit to Crowley’s ship.

“Bosun’s chair?”

“Excuse me! I’m a Captain in the Royal Navy! I don’t mind being a prisoner but I’m not going to take a _bosun’s chair_. Honestly. No, you’ll have to untie me when we get there.”

“Oh, will I?” Crowley said, as they came to the landing boat. “New hostage, fellas. Row quick as you like, we want a head-start on those navy bastards.”

*

“It’s miserable,” Aziraphale admitted late that night, three bottles in. “God, they hate me.”

“I bet they don’t hate you.”

“They really do. They expect me to be some kind of _tyrant_ , and get all disappointed when I’m not one! They wanted me to have one boy _flogged_. For theft.”

“Did you?”

“Of course not. Called him into my stateroom for a little chat. He ended up crying.” Aziraphale sighed morosely. “I gave him a sweet.”

“For fuck’s sake, angel.”

“I know! I hate it when they cry. I can’t wait until Gabriel gets over his ridiculous obsession and I can go back to London. I have twenty-seven books with me. Twenty-seven. I’ve memorised every single one. I’m drinking five hundred drops of laudanum a night.”

“Ahhhhh, that’s no good for you,” Crowley said.

“I know.” Aziraphale sighed. “It’s the worst of all possible worlds. Loneliness without solitude.”

“Sounds just like Hell,” Crowley said, and shook his head when Aziraphale looked at him so _sadly_. “Nah, come on. This is a happy occasion!”

“Being your hostage?” Aziraphale said, but he smiled.

“Exactly. My helpless prisoner. So if I lock you in a cabin for a couple of days with some biscuits and my own paltry selection of books…”

“Oh, that sounds perfect,” Aziraphale sighed. “That sounds just what I need.”

“Then your wish is my command,” Crowley said, with a strange smile, before he threw his glass against the bulkhead. “Damn your eyes!” He winked, then opened the door to the captain’s cabin. “Rest up a bit in there,” he said, in his normal voice. “I’ll tell the crew I’ve locked you away until you’ve learnt some manners.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said, without meaning to, and blushed to the roots of his hair.

Crowley had gone very still. “Right. Well. No point in flogging and keel-hauling you while you’re too jaded to appreciate it.”

“No, no, quite so,” said Aziraphale. “Don’t make promises you won’t keep, I’ll be all disappointed.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, grinning again. “You’re going to _love_ it on our ship,” he promised.

*

“So I said to him, this is _my_ sponge, not yours, ducky, but I'm a reasonable man, I’ll give it to you if you want it,” said Sebastian, gesturing with his gold goblet, “But you won’t like where! Aye, and the rest of the cannon too!”

Crowley wiped his eyes behind his glasses, and topped up Aziraphale’s own goblet. “Never gets old. Micah, sling the potatoes down this way for Captain Fell.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Aziraphale. “They’re beautifully done, Stoneheart Steve, the little pieces of garlic really do _elevate_ them.”

“You just call me Stevie, Captain Fell,” said the cook. “Captain Crowley said tonight’s dinner was to be best fare.”

“As the whole crew can fit around the table we eat together whenever we’re anchored,” Crowley said quickly. “So it’s just the same as usual, _Steve_. It’s your turn on look-out, go up and relieve Choirboy.”

Stoneheart Steve left with minimal grumbling, and Micah carried on topping up everyone’s wine. “What you get that one for?”

Aziraphale looked down at his breast, where Micah was pointing. “The silver one? That’s from the Humane Society.”

“Diving into the sea to pull idiots out,” Crowley said. “I saw the Gazette. When we took the _HMS Pericles._ Before we killed everyone and burnt it to the waterline. It’s totally normal, to read the Naval Gazette.”

“And knife out articles,” said Red Lucy.

“And save them in the ship’s log,” added Micah.

“Yes – to be aware of what the enemy’s up to!” said Crowley.

“They had something about my medal in there?” said Aziraphale. “Oh, that’s nice of them.”

“Well, so they should!” said Priya. “None of the rest of these buggers can swim.”

“Yeah, it’s different swimming in a river to swimming in the _actual ocean_ ,” said Will. “Even if yer river does have tigers in it.” Priya gave him the fig.

“When I was first teaching Crowley he was quite useless at it,” Aziraphale said, finishing his sixth glass of excellent wine. “He just sank like lead every time, thrashed like anything.”

As he poured another glassful he became aware of the dead silence around the table. And then he became aware of what he’d just said. “Um-“

“ _Captain_ ,” said Sebastian, “you never said you _knew each other_ -“

“Was you childhood sweethearts?” said Red Lucy, chin resting on her hand.

“Oh!” Aziraphale said. “Oh, oh, I, I’m ever so sorry, I meant, um, _another_ Crowley-“

Crowley was glaring daggers at Aziraphale. “All right, yes, we knew each other when we were kids. Come from the same village. Absolutely _nothing_ to do with our ceaseless crusade against British tyranny, right? We’re still keel-hauling Captain Fell tomorrow, you hear?”

Nods all around the table. Priya gave Aziraphale a wink, and Aziraphale gave her a very indiscreet wink back, and giggled.

“Oi!”


End file.
